Journal pour le Ballet (On hiatus)
by BlackLagoon01
Summary: Matthew has been working for the Honda Times for six months, but he has yet to find an area where he feels he belongs. That is, until he is assigned to interview the faculty and dancers of an up-and-coming ballet company. It is here that he meets Francis, who is perhaps more interested in Matthew than anybody else he's met over the last six months. Franada and other ships.
1. New York, New York

_Nights in the city are so lovely…_ thought Francis. He was right; while the mornings were loud and noisy and reeked of coffee, the night was a blanket. Everything worth knowing about happened at night, it seemed. He collapsed on the couch, a mess of sweat and exhaustion. _It's a damn shame I never get to see them._

* * *

Somewhere else, a young blonde in glasses sat cross-legged at a laptop, chewing the inside of his cheek and trying to condense his thoughts into words. He knew his handwriting was terrible, so he would type out this letter and mail it to his brother. Alfred may have been obnoxious, but he would surely appreciate getting something better than bills and catalogues in the mail for a change.

 _Dear Alfred,_

 _Well, this is it! Today is the half-anniversary of my working here. I don't think anyone's really noticed me yet, but the boss seems to like me well enough. I mean, he hasn't fired me yet, so at least I've got that going for me._

 _I get the feeling that I'm just writing the articles that nobody else has time for. I haven't really been assigned to any one department yet, but I'm assigned odd articles that don't seem to have a lot to do with each other._

 _I have to admit, I really do wish you were here. It's not the same without you around; I think you're the one who gave me the courage to talk to people. I've tried that here, but they just brush me off… another thing I forgot to mention: everybody is always busy. The other day, somebody was sprinting down the hallway with a cardboard box, and the box nailed me right in the stomach as he passed by._

 _But really, it gets lonely. I just feel invisible a lot of the times, because I get moved around so much. While I was in the culinary department, I think I made friends with this Italian guy. He had a horrible attitude and used the word "bastard"_ extremely _liberally, but his English was impeccable. We talked a lot about the food from where he's from and how different he think it is from American food. He yelled a lot, but he talked to me, and I think that's what counts._

 _Also, have you seen the posters for the new ballet? I know you probably don't really care about it that much, but the Kirkland Ballet Company is debuting a brand-new ballet, with music by Roderich Edelstein. You probably wouldn't know who he is, but I think he's a genius._

 _Anyway, it's called "La Ballade de Elizaveta", and it's opening soon. It's been awhile since I last saw a ballet. I'm looking forward to it._

 _You'll have to come out and visit sometime, once I clear all the bears off of my couch. I miss you._

 _Your brother,_

 _Matthew_

With the push of a button, the printer began to spit his letter out for him to fold and stick into an envelope. _Nights in the city are so lovely…_ he thought. He was right; mornings were dull and grey and consisted mainly of mashing the keyboard and hoping the result was worthwhile. Nights, however, seemed so much more relaxed. _It's a shame I'm too scared to explore them._

* * *

Francis's dormant figure laid on his bed, curled up and snoring. He was in the middle of a beautiful dream; the nightly performance had just ended to thunderous applause and the throwing of roses at his feet. Amidst these roses was a single envelope, addressed to him. He plucked it off the ground and opened it… inside, there was a beautifully handwritten note.

 _I'm proud of you._

His eyes swept the audience, eager to find the person who had written it, and his eyes fell upon somebody in the front row, beaming up at him. He could not see who they were, though.

Then, the alarm went off. He grabbed the antique alarm clock off of his nightstand and held it close to his face. "Sometimes I really hate you, you know that?" he unceremoniously tossed it to the foot of his bed and lugged himself to a standing position. He trudged to the restroom to comb back his unruly hair into a shape that would be more acceptable to his supervisor. He wanted to believe he looked nice, but to his critical eye, it looked like he just walked out of the 1920's. "I suppose we can't have everything…" he and his 20's hair then got dressed, ate breakfast, brushed his teeth, and gathered everything he'd need until he would next come home. He surveyed the apartment… "Time for work, then."

Of course, it wasn't so much _work_ as it was _class._ What awaited Francis at the studio was a rigorous ballet technique class, just like the ones he had every day. Although his face may have been perfect, it seemed as though his technique never would be. The ballet master was constantly calling out new adjustments to be made, prompting him to realize that his turnout could be wider, his calf could be tighter, his développé could be higher. Even so, it would never be perfect.

But that didn't mean it couldn't be beautiful.

* * *

Matthew gulped as he looked up at the immense gray building that stood before him. He had finished his most recent article about the botanical garden that had just opened in one of the surrounding towns, and would most surely be relocated today. He had just been getting used to that department, too, and he didn't particularly relish the thought of being in another room full of strangers today. Nonetheless, he forced one foot in front of the other before he stood in front of the friendly-looking receptionist.

"Name?"

"M-matthew Williams."

She scrolled through whatever database she had open on her ancient-looking laptop until she found his name. "You're wanted in the entertainment department today," she said. "Third floor." Matthew noticed that her accent was thick and foreign. It sounded almost Russian.

"Thank you!"

He made his way over to the elevator, then to the third floor. The entertainment department was clearly marked on a plain-looking door. He raised his hand to knock, but was cut short when the door was opened by a short, angry-looking young man who could only be described as _childish._

"Where the hell have you been?"

"Oh, I-I'm sorry. I just got here."

The young man, presumably the head of the department, surveyed the shaking figure of Matthew Williams. "So. You're the extra?"

"So it would seem… sir."

"Hm… you need a haircut. But you'll do."

"Um… thank you, I guess? I'm Matthew Williams." He held out his hand in hopes that the young man would shake it, but instead he grabbed it and pulled Matthew into the room, reaching over to close the door behind him.

"I'm Peter Kirkland, head of the entertainment department." He gestured to the room, which was about twice the size of a high school classroom. There were three rows of desks divided down the middle, with one person on either side of the divider. Each person was glued to a laptop or an encyclopedia or chattering on a cell phone. "Your desk is over there," He said, pointing to an empty space marked by a folded piece of paper that read, "NOOb". "Feliks has taken the liberty of making you a nameplate. Your assignment has been emailed to you."

"Thanks, Peter."

"That's Mr. Kirkland to you."

"Right, sorry." He began to make his way to the empty desk, but a thought struck him and he turned around. "Mr. Kirkland?"

"What is it now?"

"You aren't, by any chance, related to the great Arthur Kirkland?"

Peter gave a sly grin. "So you're a ballet fanatic?"

"Well, I wouldn't consider myself a fanatic, but…"

"He's my uncle. And if you enjoy ballet as much as you're letting on, I can tell you this much: these next few days just might be the best days of your life."

Matthew forced a smile and thanked him, even though he was a bit confused. He hoped his inbox would hold an answer.

To: Mwilliamscanada

From: Feliksthefunkyone

Re: Welcome, bro! Also, your job!

Matthew:

Welcome to the entertainment department. Pete told me that you've been working for the Honda Times for about six months now, so I'm assuming that you already have, like, at least a general idea of what you're supposed to be doing. So, basically, here's your assignment:

The Kirkland Ballet's newest production opens this Friday. That's in eight days, in case you don't own a calendar. Your job is to write an article about the work that's gone into the show, the premise of it, any background information and interesting details… you get the idea. Nobody's heard anything about this ballet, unless you include those posters pinned up just about everywhere, so it's up to you to get as much information as possible from anybody involved: the dancers, the choreographers, maybe even Arthur Kirkland himself. Good luck. Oh, by the way, the deadline is this Monday.

-Feliks Lukasiewicz

Jounalist

The Honda Times

Matthew read and reread the email. Article… Kirkland ballet… interview… He smiled. Peter was right. These next four days would be some of the best days of his life.

Wait. Four days? He opened a new tab and pulled up the company's official website, scouring it for any kind of phone number or email address. There was no time to lose.

* * *

A/N: I really have no idea how newspaper companies work. I'll try to research it so it seems more convincing, but for now, sorry… Also, I promise I'm still working on "Her Own Debt to Repay", it's just moving a bit slow.

Also, the site removed the rest of the fake email addresses, so that's why they look like that.


	2. September

To: Akirkland 

From: Mwilliamscanada 

re: An upcoming article. Interviews?

Director Kirkland:

I am writing to you today concerning an upcoming article to be published in the Honda Times this monday, regarding "La Ballade de Elizaveta". I apologize for the short notice, but I'd like to request an interview with you, as well as the following people:

Francis Bonnefoy

Natalia Arlovskaya

Also, are you in contact with Roderich Edelstein? I understand that he does not wish to be disturbed by the media, but regardless, I'd like to try.

It should be noted that time is of the essence. I hope that you, Francis, and Natalia can find time in your busy schedules.

Feel free to email me or call the phone number in the enclosed document.

-Matthew Williams

Journalist

The Honda Times

He sent two other emails like this: One to Ivan Braginsky, the choreographer, and one to Lili Vogel, the head costumer. He had found both of their email addresses on the website, leaving him to depend upon Mr. Kirkland for the interviews of the two, as well as the contact information. He only hoped that the director would check his email soon.

To occupy his time while he waited for a god-given email alert, or phone call, he reopened the company's website and clicked on "current and upcoming shows". "Ballade de Elizaveta" was at the top of the list, next to a photo of a girl in a grass-green costume captured mid-leap. _Must be Natalia._ His eyes wandered to the synopsis below:

"The heartbreaking love story of a young gypsy and an exiled prince. With music by the great Roderich Edelstein, choreographed by Ivan Braginsky."

 _That's not saying much,_ he thought. _At least whoever wrote it appreciates Roderich's work._ He backtracked to the home page and clicked over to the dancer profiles, listed in alphabetical order. Natalia's profile was one of the first listed, naturally. In her photo, her hair was down, and she was not smiling. It almost looked as if she was trying to intimidate somebody off-camera. It was terrifying. As soon as he decided this, he flicked his fingers across the trackpad to get that face out of view, sending him to the bottom of the page. He scrolled past several names, only some of which accompanied by photographs, before he found the profile he was looking for: Francis's.

He had no picture, and his bio was minimal. In two lines, it briefly described where and when he had studied ballet, when he joined the Kirkland Ballet, and a few of the shows he had participated in. From what Matthew could gather, it seemed that he was relatively new to the company, as well as dancing professionally. _Francis Bonnefoy…_ the email icon on his other tab began blinking. _I wish you the best of luck._

* * *

The exercise was simple. _Tombe pas de bouree, temps lie, chasse saut de basque, chasse saute arabesque, pas de cheval,_ then repeat to the other side. And yet, at the ballet master's command, he and the rest of the company had repeated it countless times. It was enough to make anybody feel like a robot, even though their muscles cried out in pain.

The ritual ended abruptly when the door swung open and Director Kirkland strode in, staring at his phone. He glanced up to survey the room before clearing his throat. "Arlovskaya." two cold eyes turned to look at him. "Are you available after today's rehearsal?"

"Ah… I'm sorry, but no."

"Tomorrow, then?"

"I am sorry, but I'm booked solid for the rest of the week."

"Oh…" his eyes flicked back to his phone. "He's not gonna be happy about that. Bonnefoy?"

Francis furrowed his brow. "I'm free. What's going on?"

"A Matthew Williams from the Honda Times has requested an interview with you. I'll tell him to meet you in the theater lobby. Does that work for you?"

"Yes, I think it does."

With that matter settled, he stepped over to the baby grand piano in the corner of the room, or, more specifically, the woman sitting behind it. "Do you have any information regarding Roderich Edelstein?"

Her voice was quiet, and Francis had to strain to hear it. "Well… I'm not sure. What kind of information are you looking for?"

"Phone number, email address… any way to contact him, really."

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I'm the right person to ask."

His face fell. "No matter."

"If you really are planning on contacting him, I wish you luck. He's pretty reclusive, you know."

"Yes, I know." He addressed the room. "Thank you for your time." He promptly disappeared through the door, and the ballet master signaled for the pianist to begin again. He gave the standard countoff: "Five, six, seven, eight."

* * *

To: Mwilliamscanada 

From: Lvogel-zwingli 

Re: An upcoming article. Interviews?

Mr. Williams,

I'd be pleased to be interviewed! I'll be in the workshop at the enclosed address from 9:00 a.m to 3:00 p.m for the next few days, so you can stop by then, if that works for you. If not, call me and we can schedule something else. Have a nice day!

-Lili Vogel

Kirkland Ballet

To: Mwilliamscanada 

From: IBraginsky 

Re: An upcoming article. Interviews?

Matthew,

An interview sounds delightful! I would be pleased to be helping you. I can meet you at anytime after our daily rehearsal, which ends at 3:00. Feel free to call me with the enclosed number. I look forward to seeing your smiling face! You sound like you are a wonderful person! Much love,

Ivan Braginsky

Kirkland Ballet

Matthew wasn't quite sure what to make of Ivan's email. He seemed friendly enough, but there was such a thing as being _too_ friendly. Oh, well… he'd make sure to keep the interview short.

A third email came in shortly after, from Director Kirkland. Matthew was pleased to hear that Francis Bonnefoy was, indeed, available later that day, but Natalia was tied up and Roderich remained an enigma. In addition, Director Kirkland could arrange to be interviewed at anytime after three o'clock.

He pushed up his sleeve to look at his watch. It was eleven o'clock now, so he could easily fit in the interview with Lili before the rehearsal ended. He opened his notebook and began scratching down the first few questions.

* * *

The auditorium lights were on, and, unlike in Francis's dream, there was only one person in the audience. He was not beaming with pride, but scratching irritably on a notepad of some sort. He furrowed his abnormally thick eyebrows and nodded at somebody whose head was poking out of the side curtains. The head disappeared, and the overture to "La Ballade pour Elizaveta" began to play from the orchestra pit. Rehearsal had begun.

Ivan Braginsky stood at the front of the wing just off of stage left, stealing occasional glances at the backstage technician. He was a small man, with long black hair and a nervous stature. Ivan could tell he was intimidated, as well as a bit annoyed, by the attention, so he decided to full-on stare at him.

Francis was watching this all unfold, and his heart went out to the technician. Ivan had the uncanny ability to scare the crap out of anybody with little more than a smile. For anybody that knew him, a prolonged stare meant certain death.

If Francis squinted, he could just make out the capital letters on the man's nametag, but not much else. Y-something-something… Yoo? Yae? And then something that started with a "W".

Soon enough, the overture ended and Francis's cue arrived. There was no more time to sympathize with Mr. W. The only thing to do now was dance.

* * *

"Excuse me, miss. I'm looking for Lili Vogel. Would you know where she is?"

The little girl turned away from the costumed mannequin she had been examining and smiled. "That's me."

Matthew balked. "Are you sure? I mean, I was expe—"

"Let me guess. You were expecting somebody a little older?" Lili smiled good-naturedly.

"Well, yes."

"I'm older than I look, you know." Matthew certainly hoped so, considering that she looked about fourteen. "I'm twenty-seven."

"Oh. Well, it's nice to meet you, Lili."

"It's nice to meet you, too." She took a seat at the desk that separated the two of him and motioned for him to do the same. He took a chair from a nearby stack and pulled it up. "So you wanted to interview me?"

"Oh… yeah, that." He fumbled with his messenger bag, pulling out his notepad, a pencil, and his list of questions. "How long have you been working with the Kirkland Ballet?"

"Hm… since the beginning. We've only been around for five years, you know."

"Oh, wow. I hadn't realized that the company was that young."

"It may be young, but everyone here is very experienced."

"That's good to know. How long have you been working on the costumes for 'Ballade'?"

She looked down in thought for a moment. "Five or six months. It took a lot of planning to make sure we had it right, but I think the costumes compliment the story nicely."

He scratched a few abbreviated notes down before asking, "And, if you don't mind my asking, what _is_ the story?"

She offered only a sly grin. "That's classified until opening night."

"Oh…" he looked over his glasses. "Can't you at least give me a hint? Ballet costume designer to ballet junkie?"

She smiled and shook her head. "I wish I could, but Director Kirkland swore me to secrecy. I'm sorry."

"That's fine. It only makes it all the more mysterious… an exiled prince and a young gypsy."

"That's right!"

"So…" he flipped a page in his notebook. "Has the costuming for this ballet been any different from some of the other ballets the company has done?"

"You'd be surprised. Since the only description I've been able to get is from the story that Roderich gave us, it's difficult to know exactly what the costumes have to look like. The one on that mannequin, for example," she pointed at the figure behind her. "That one's for Francis. I have no idea what Roderich intended his 'exiled prince' to look like, but I think I got it pretty close."

Matthew followed her finger and found himself gazing at a simple, tight-fitting black tunic, embroidered in silver. "It's beautiful…"

She beamed. "Thank you! Francis could barely take his eyes off of it when he saw the finished product. He called me a goddess of satin and spandex."

"I think that's about right." He tried to snap out of his trance. "I think I'm almost done here, but I have a somewhat unrelated question: what's Francis like? I have an interview with him later today."

"Oh… well, I really don't know. He doesn't seem to have many close friends here, but from what I can see, he has a lot of friends outside of the company. He seems nice enough, though."

"That's good to know. Thank you."

"Also, he's a bit vain. He's a perfectionist, and he's quite the charmer. Nobody's quite sure how… well… nevermind."

"This isn't going in the paper. You can tell me."

She closed her eyes and, with some effort, she spat out, "Nobody really knows which way he swings."

Matthew's eyebrows shot up. "Well, then."

Her face took on a red tinge. "I'm sorry, that wasn't nice of me. I shouldn't be gossipping like that."

"No, it's fine… I have one more question," he said, eager to change the subject. "What do you know about Roderich Edelstein?"

"Probably just as much as you, to be honest. I know that he's a successful composer, and that he sent us the sheet music and a recording of his symphony… and the story…"

"But that's it?"

She nodded. "That's it. We don't know where he lives, what he looks like, or even how to contact him. He delivered all of his information through an advocate. Oh, hello!"

Matthew whipped his head around to see who she was talking to. At the foot of the staircase behind him stood a beautiful woman with long brown hair, looking a bit disturbed. Lili continued. "How was the class today?"

"Class was… fine, I suppose. Arthur stopped by."

Matthew took the visitor as his cue to leave. "I think I have all I need. Thank you, Lili. I'll call you if there's anything else."

"Alright. It was a pleasure meeting you, Matthew!"

"The pleasure's all mine."

The woman raised her eyebrows. "So _you're_ Matthew?"

He turned away from Lili and extended his hand. "That's me. And you are?"

She shook his hand. "You can call me Beth."

"I wish I could stick around, but I have another interview in…" he checked his watch. "Three hours… I guess it's not as late as I thought it was."

"Then stay!" purred Lili. "It gets lonely down here. Besides, I have an interesting idea."

"But…" Matthew searched his mind for an excuse. He had work to do? Hardly. There was only so much he could write based on a single interview. His boss would know he was missing? Hardly. Something told him that Peter forgot about him as soon as he had left the room. He had to feed his cat? That was a bit of a problem, seeing as he didn't own one.

"I suppose I can stay. What's your interesting idea?"

"I want _you_ ," she pointed a finger at Matthew, "to try on _that."_ she pulled her finger away from Matthew and pointed it at the black costume on the mannequin. Beth grinned devilishly.

"I-I don't know about that…"

"Oh, come on…" Beth crooned. "It would look nice on you. Besides, you're pretty skinny. I think it'd fit you."

"Well… if you insist." Lili circled the mannequin and unzipped the tunic from behind, throwing the bundle of fabric at Matthew.

"If you don't want to take of your shirt in front of us, you can change behind there," she smirked, motioning at a divider that had been set up next to the staircase. He gratefully retreated behind it and, with some difficulty, zipped himself into the costume. He emerged feeling rather silly.

"Wearing that, you almost look like Francis," sighed Beth.

"Thanks…?"

"No need to be so modest! You're lovely!" Lili showed him a mirror, tilting it so that his khakis were out of view.

He turned to get a better view of the sleeves, and of the back. He couldn't help but agree with Mr. Bonnefoy: Lili _was_ a goddess. He looked just like the danseurs he had grown up admiring. It almost made him a little sad; as a child he had wanted the recognition of millions. Now, it was a struggle to get somebody to remember his name. He was all too eager to shed the tunic and don his simple collared shirt once again.

At Beth and Lili's insistence, he stayed and chatted until he checked his watch and realized that he had only five minutes before his interview with Francis. He thanked the two ladies for their time, and they made him promise to come back and visit sometime. He said he'd be glad to, before rushing out, hoping that Francis wasn't already waiting for him.

* * *

The rehearsal ran fifteen minutes behind schedule. This wasn't bad, Francis noted, compared to some of the other rehearsals he'd had. This was a sign that Ivan was beginning to trust that they knew the choreography by heart. _Or,_ he thought, _maybe he's just too distracted by that poor technician._

When rehearsal finally let out, he hurriedly changed into his street clothes and brushed his hair so it looked relatively normal, as opposed to the 20's kind of normal. He rushed into the lobby to find a young man in glasses leaning against a pillar and whistling. "Matthew Williams, I presume?"

The owner of the name nearly jumped out of his skin at the unfamiliar voice. "Yes, and you're Francis?"

He flipped his hair. "The one and only."

"W-well… it's nice to meet you."

* * *

A.N: four things. One: "Danseur" is another name for a male ballet dancer.

Two: Matthew turned out a little bolder in this chapter than usual. Weird.

Three: I wish that the site would let me write in the complete email addresses… it makes it a little clear where everybody works, at least. Also, I didn't want to deal with phone numbers and street addresses, so that's why there's all the "enclosed document" stuff.

Four: Special thanks to **Red Nightengale** for the advice and encouragement!


	3. I Get A Kick Out Of You

The moment that the door at the top of the staircase closed behind Matthew, Beth whirled on Lili. "Why has everybody been asking about Roderich? First the Director, then I heard you telling Mr. Williams about him. Did something happen?"

"Oh, no, it's not like that at all. Mr. Williams wanted to know about him for his article, I think. Director Kirkland may have been trying to help him, or maybe he had a question about the story… I wouldn't be too worried about it."

Beth sighed. "I guess you're right… but I can't help but notice these things."

"I know, Bethi. Believe me, it'll all blow over soon."

"I certainly hope so." She sighed shakily.

* * *

Matthew had been relieved to find that he was still early, but his relief quickly gave way to anxiety. It had been easy enough to interview Lili, but he had never actually spoken to a professional dancer before. He began to wonder if Francis would be cold or friendly. He had no idea what to expect, and even though he had gotten used to the sensation over the past six months, somehow it was back in full force. In an effort to calm his nerves, he began to hum a snatch of music he remembered from one of Roderich's older symphonies.

"Matthew Williams, I presume?" A voice with a heavy French accent pulled Matthew out of his reverie.

"Yes, and you're Francis?"

The tall, thin man before him flipped his hair, saying, "The one and only."

 _Right, so he either has a sense of humor, or an ego. Or both._ "W-well… it's a pleasure to meet you." He held out his hand, and the Frenchman shook it.

"The pleasure is all mine." Some part of Matthew's mind was sharply aware of how attractive Mr. Bonnefoy was, but he chose to ignore it.

"So, shall we discuss this over a late lunch?"

Francis paused in thought. "There's a new café down the street."

Matthew nodded. "I think that'll work." With this confirmation, the journalist and the danseur exited the lobby and found themselves out in the crisp September air. Eventually, Matthew gathered the courage to speak again. "You know…" he began quietly. "I've loved the ballet for as long as I can remember, but I've never actually met a dancer before." His eyes were on the sidewalk, but he could feel Francis's gaze on him.

"You haven't?"

"Well, no. I mean, I guess you could say that I've met one now…"

"Are you nervous?"

"What? N-no! Of course not!" To prove his point, he jerked his head out of its downcast position and looked Francis right in the eye.

"Are you sure about that?" Francis stared intently back at him with his bright blue eyes. They were deep and intense and—

Matthew broke the eye contact. It was far too much to handle. After all, this was only supposed to be an interview, and here he was, acting like a shy high school student. He couldn't afford to be nervous! It wasn't in his job description to be nervous! "Yes, I'm sure. I'm flattered to finally be meeting a professional dancer, though."

"Well… I'm flattered to have been asked for an interview. Ah, here it is."

Matthew realized that they had stopped in front of a quaint little café that went by the name of "The Friendly Tomato." "I remember a friend of mine writing an article about this place!"

"Really? And what did he have to say about it?"

Francis held the door for the journalist, and once they were both inside, Matthew murmured just loudly enough for Francis to hear, "Well, he called the owner a bastard when he was telling me about it."

Francis's eyebrows shot up. "Mon dieu! Antonio's not a bastard!"

"Well, he calls everybody that, but… wait. You know Antonio?"

"He's one of my—"

"Francis!" A dark-haired young man emerged from the kitchen, smiling hugely. "Mi amigo delirante! It's about time you stopped by!"

"Ah, Antonio. Sincerest apologies, but rehearsals have been running long lately."

Antonio made no move to accept his apology. "And to think, you left me alone with mister everything-you-make-sucks over there." He jerked his thumb in the general direction of a short, unsmiling young man at a long counter facing the side window. If it hadn't been for the telltale curl, Matthew almost wouldn't have recognized him. He couldn't help but laugh.

"So who's your little friend? He's kinda cute."

the "little friend" extended his hand in the most dignified way possible. "I'm Matthew Williams, a journalist for the Honda times. I'm interviewing Francis about the upcoming ballet."

This piqued his interest. "Honda times? My… ah… acquaintance over there works there, too!"

The journalist nodded. "Lovino Vargas, in the culinary section. I remember when he wrote the article about this place."

"Ah, yeah. He's come here every day since, and every day, without fail, he'll call me a bastard."

"Yes, that sounds just like him."

"Yeah, he's a strange little person… but it's nice to have him around sometimes."

As a response, Lovino turned around and hollered, "I know you bastards are talking about me!"

Matthew waved sheepishly.

"Who the hell are you?"

His stomach sank. How could Lovino forget him? He thought they were friends… "I'm Matthew," he said quietly.

Francis was beginning to look a bit uncomfortable. "So… shall we sit down?"

"Yeah," Matthew responded, trying to hide his sudden wave of depression. "Let's start this interview."

The two were seated and waited upon by Antonio himself, which meant that Francis could complain as loudly as he pleased about the place not having a liquor license. "Um… Mr. Bonnefoy, considering the reason that we're here, that's probably a good thing."

"Nonsense! Everybody knows that conversation flows more freely when wine is involved."

"Look, I'm just trying to do my job." He flinched at his own words. "Case and point, alcohol and work hours don't mix." _This interview is_ not _off to a good start._ "So… how long have you been with the company?"

Francis sighed in defeat. "Three years. You might say that a friend of a friend told me about it, once it started to get off the ground."

"And how long have you been dancing?"

This reply came much quicker. "Nineteen years. I began when I was seven."

 _So he's only a year older than I am,_ Matthew thought. _And yet he carries himself like he's so much older than that._ "That's quite a long time."

"It may be, but the time flies…." He seemed to slip into some distant memory. A gentle smile graced his face, and his bright blue eyes focused on something just past Matthew's shoulder.

"So…" He seemed to snap out of it. "What sets this ballet apart from some of the other productions you've worked on?"

"Well…" He thought for a moment. "It's difficult to explain without giving the plot away, but the style is definitely a bit more contemporary. A bit more…" He glanced around the café, his eyes eventually coming to rest on Matthew's. "...passionate."

He felt his face starting to heat up, and he hoped that it wasn't too obvious. "R-right. Anything else?"

"Hm. Aside from the style of the choreography, the music is definitely unique. It's not often that a piano is featured in the orchestra pit, but I suppose that's just the way that Roderich wrote it. What else…"

"It's fine if you can't think of anything. Um…" he clumsily flipped through his notebook. "How would you describe your and Natalia's characters?"

"Well, they're a bit more… dynamic than some of the other roles we've worked on."

"And what do you mean by that?"

"My character begins as a vain fool, but you might say that karma paid him a visit. He learns what pain is…"

"That sounds dark." Matthew tried to adopt a facade of polite interest, but his true personality threatened to break through. He could not take this much longer.

"It is a dark story, Matthew."

 _Ohh my gosh, he said my name. Wait, why is that so unusual?_ There was just something so perfect about hearing his own name on Francis's perfect lips. _Why am I thinking like this? I'm supposed to be working!_ "And what about Natalia's character?"

"Ah, the titular character. She's an innocent young girl, a common character in ballets, mind you."

"Go on."

Francis rested his chin in his hands. "She also learns what pain is, although in a slightly different way from my character."

"And I heard that this was the story that Roderich sent you?"

The danseur froze. "Who told you that?"

"Lili, the costume designer. I had an interview with her earlier today."

He smiled. _My god, that smile._ Matthew stared at his hands to avoid anything on his face giving him away. "Ah, the goddess. Yes, Roderich considers it his life story. You might consider him a bit of a tortured soul… or at least, that's how he sees himself."

"I'll say… wait, so _he's_ the exiled prince?"

"So it would seem. He's not really a prince, of course, it's all very stylized–"

"So you're playing Roderich Edelstein in his own life story." His anxiety began to fade away as the conversation shifted to the great composer.

"You could look at it that way. 'Exiled prince' sounds a good deal more romantic, though."

Before he could stop himself or realize the answer was probably going to be "no", he found himself asking the same question he had asked to Lili and Roderich. "Do you know anything else about him?"

Francis's smile faded to a smirk. "Is this for the paper?"

Matthew's voice went dry. Here he had been going on about how important it was for him to do his work, but taken advantage of Francis to get information about his idol instead. "Well… no."

"Hm." The pair of perfect blue eyes narrowed. "How badly do you want to know?"

He was terrified of what the Francis would say if he answered honestly, but at the same time, he knew it would be worth it. Anything would be worth it for more information about the enigmatic composer. "I want to know about him…" _at this moment, more than anything in the world. More than life, more than love, more than I want to be noticed and_ remembered. _I want to know…_ "Quite badly. I'm a close follower of his work, and I have never been disappointed."

"So you're a neo-classical junkie. Who knew?" Francis muttered to himself. "I'll tell you what I know, if you'll let _me_ interview _you_ sometime. With wine," he added for good measure. "Because conversa—"

"I know, it flows more freely when wine is involved." He paused, beginning to process what the Frenchman had just said. "Why would you want to do _that?"_

He looked genuinely hurt. "Look, do you want more information on Edelstein or not?"

It was Matthew's turn to be defeated. "Fine. Give me a location and a time."

"First off, when will you finish this article?"

"Monday's the deadline."

"Monday evening, then. Rehearsal will be short that day, anyway. So…" He looked at the ceiling, calculating his time. "Seven o'clock… Le Manoir de Grenades."

 _This is not a date. This is a trick. This is a strange trick._ "That'll work." His words gave way to a lull in the conversation interrupted only by Antonio dropping off the bill. They both reached for it, but Matthew managed to grab it first. Seeing as they had only had drinks, it had been next to nothing. He left a generous tip. "I think I've got all the information I need. Thank you, Mr. Bonnefoy."

"Call me Francis, why don't you? There's no need to be so formal."

"As far as I'm concerned…" He shot Francis what he hoped was a withering glare, but may have just been a look of mild irritation… "I'm still working."

"Well then…" He waved a farewell to Antonio as he stood up to leave. "I'll see you on Monday, Monsieur Williams."

With one last wink in Matthew's direction, he opened the door and was gone. The bespectacled young man stayed behind for a few minutes to collect himself before he, too, rose to leave.

He was surprised at how close the café was to his apartment block.

Along the side of the building was a wide alley. It was in that alley where the stairs leading down to the front door of his apartment could be found. He gratefully descended them and slipped back into the place that had served as his home for six months. He slammed the door behind him and leaned against it, resting his head on his forearm. _Don't do it, Matthew._ He turned so his back was against the door, and he squeezed his eyes shut. _Please don't do it. It's a horrible idea and it'll only lead to trouble._ He sank to the floor and pulled his knees into his chest, burying his face in them. Why did he have to get so worked up over somebody he had only just met? _Don't fall in love with him._

If only it were that simple.

* * *

Somewhere far away, a pair of hands flew over a keyboard, drawing sounds from it that any number of great baroque and classical composers would envy. The hands were dancing, and the piano was singing to accompany them. Its song was doused in melancholy, as was the pianist. For both the player and the instrument were incomplete now, and they both knew that the void could not be filled with this song. That didn't mean that they couldn't try, though.

They would continue to play into the night… A ballad for Elizaveta.


	4. Dream A Little Dream Of Me

The note from last night sat atop Francis's bedside table, still reading, "I'm proud of you." This time, though, the handwriting was a little messier. He noticed the note before he noticed the heavenly aroma wafting from the kitchen.

As he moved to get out of bed, he heard a voice from the doorway. "You can stay there." He redirected his gaze to see the face of Matthew Williams smiling back at him. "You did a fantastic job at last night's performance."

"There wasn't a performance last night, Matthew." Not seeming to hear him, Matthew moved closer to the bed. "How did you get into my apartment?" There was still no answer. "What are you doing here?" Matthew only laid down next to him and wrapped his arms around Francis.

"Shh… it doesn't matter."

"I get it. So this is a dr—"

"Don't say it. If you say it, it'll end."

Matthew's face was pressed into Francis's chest. If there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that he did _not_ want this to end. He draped an arm over the journalist's shoulder and blinked down at the top of his blond head until a quiet ringing reached their ears. Matthew began to stir.

"The waffles are done. I'll be right back."

Francis sighed as he released Matthew and he disappeared into the kitchen. The ringing grew steadily louder, filling him with despair as he realized…

His eyes fluttered open and he rolled over to see his alarm clock ringing madly. "I hate you. You do know that, don't you?" As he fumbled to turn it off, two thoughts wrestled for dominance in his sluggish mind: One, opening night was in exactly one week. Two, Monday evening could not come soon enough.

* * *

As Matthew frantically brushed his hair and threw on his jacket, Francis Bonnefoy was the last thing on his mind. He silently cursed Director Kirkland for arranging his interview so early. Didn't the man sleep at all? Of course, Matthew had no place to be complaining. Arthur had explicitly stated that on Friday, there would be an all-day rehearsal, so the earlier the meeting, the better. At least he had chosen a coffee shop as the location, otherwise Matthew would not survive the ordeal.

He bid one last farewell to the pile of stuffed bears on the couch and stepped out into the crisp morning air. _I still need to move those bears…_ he thought. _It'd be nice to have my couch back._

Director Kirkland was sitting pristinely at one of the tables when Matthew arrived. His hands were folded on the table, his shirt was immaculate, and he had not a hair out of place. In short, he looked perfect. He raised a hand to wave the journalist over. "Good morning, Mr. Williams."

"Good morning, Mr. Kirkland." He took the seat across from the director.

"You look tired."

Matthew gave a quiet laugh. "I am. I was up late, consolidating the notes from the other two interviews… so shall we start this?"

"Absolutely."

The interview that followed mainly focused on the things that Matthew already knew about: The music, the costumes, the style of dance, and the relative infancy of the company. He was able to learn that Arthur, as well as Ivan, wasn't altogether confident about being the first to release a new ballet, but they both felt that the company was up to the challenge. He was friendly, charismatic… _perfect would be a good word to describe him._

As he had with the others, Matthew wrapped up the interview by asking, "Can you tell me anything else about Roderich Edelstein?"

The Director ran his fingers through his hair, leaving it a bit disheveled. "Well… for starters, what have Lili and Francis told you?"

"Th-they've told me that he's the one who wrote the story…"

"That's true."

"And that he considers it to be his life story."

"Now that, I cannot confirm. It may be, but he never told me that much in our dealings. Anything else?"

"Aside from the fact that he's a bit of a recluse, not really."

"Well, if that's all they saw fit to tell you, then I suppose it'd be indecent of me to tell you anything more."

"I see." He rose. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Kirkland."

Arthur only nodded, not seeing the point in saying anything as the disappointed-looking journalist slunk out of the shop. He gathered his briefcase and made his way to the auditorium with a singular thought: _I just hope he's not too disappointed when he learns the truth._

* * *

Ivan happily surveyed the rehearsal from the wings, as usual. He still snuck the occasional glance at the head technician, but now that he was starting to take notice, Ivan didn't worry about making it so obvious. After all, he was supposed to be scrutinizing the dancers, not admiring Yao Wang. But still… there was something in the way that Yao flinched every time Ivan smiled, then scurried away, that just made him seem so… was _cute_ the right word? _Yes,_ he thought. _Yes, it is._ With this thought established, he reached a decision: He would say hello to Yao in the most friendly way possible, once the the rehearsal reached a good break point.

His train of thought was derailed by a faint buzzing in his pocket. He whipped out his phone to see a brief text message from Matthew Williams:

 _What time works for you?_

He flinched slightly. He had forgotten that today's rehearsal would run late. He typed out a response, hoping that the journalist wouldn't be to worried.

 _Sincerest apologies, but today will not work. Anytime tomorrow before 10:00 am works for me, though._

It didn't take long for a reply to reach him:

 _That sounds good! Where would you like to meet?_

 _You can decide that. I'm a bit busy at the moment, but I'll call you later tonight._

 _Alright!_

He felt a bit bad about ending the conversation without an answer, but he had been distracted enough.

"Excuse me."

He turned around, startled, to see the scowling face of Yao. "Yes?"

"Shouldn't you be doing your job?"

He smiled good-naturedly. "Shouldn't you be minding your own business?"

The scowl intensified as Yao stalked off, leaving Ivan just a bit confused. _Did I say something wrong?_

* * *

The entertainment department was dead silent when Matthew arrived. Not a head turned to see why the door had opened, and not an eyelash was batted when he took his seat. He opened his laptop and his notebook and began to compile his notes and write up a rough outline for the article. Most of his information had been pretty consistent: The company was new, the music was new, the story was a mystery, and the choreography was unique. Hopefully the article could do the ballet justice.

Before he really knew what he was doing, he opened his event calendar. It looked pretty clear for the next few days, except for the meeting with Ivan and the due date for the article. He gulped when he saw the empty slot that was Monday evening. He plugged in the meeting with Francis with painfully slow hands, recalling the afternoon in the café. Francis's bright blue eyes stared back at him in his mind's eye, and Matthew heard his own name being whispered in a heavy French accent. He discarded the thought immediately. _This is for Roderich,_ he thought. _It's only dinner and a few personal questions. Then he'll tell me everything he knows, and I'll never have to see him again._

As he fumbled to pack up at the end of the day, two thoughts wrestled for dominance in his tired mind: One, he really ought to pick up the pace on this article. Two, he hoped that Monday would never come.

* * *

"Lovino, you've been here for three hours. Don't you think it's time you went home?"

The Italian jerked his head up from the counter he had been staring at. "Why? Do you _want_ me to leave?"

"Well…" Antonio looked down at the pile of dirty plates in his hands. "Not really… but surely you have better things to be doing than sitting around in cafés that you don't even like."

"Who said I didn't like it here?"

The Spaniard raised an eyebrow. "You did, Multiple times. You've also been calling me a bastard, amongst other things, from the moment that we met."

Lovino scowled. "Maybe I changed my mind."

Antonio shook his head and retreated to the kitchen, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "I'll never understand Italians."

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry for the late update and the short chapter!**

 **I hate to say this, but I think it's going to be a while before I post another chapter. I still have to finish "Her Own Debt to Repay" and life is getting a bit more chaotic, what with the whole start-of-the-school-year thing and summer homework (Seriously, who** _ **does**_ **that?) and a fourteen-hour drive to drop somebody off at college. *le sigh***

 **But do not despair! I've got big plans for this fic, and I don't plan to let anybody down. I'm just going to be… slow, is all.**

— **Lagoon**


	5. An announcement

_For those of you who followed this story in hopes of an update:_

 _It's going to be a while. But I do have a plan for this, I hope you know. Once I'm done with "For What It's Worth", I'm going to start on a new fic, set in this same universe, except the focus will be on the growing relationship between Lovino and Antonio. After that, I'm going to work my way through some of the other pairings in this story, eventually getting back to this one. Thank you for your patience, and I am sorry._

 _—Lagoon_


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